


thin threads

by thepsychicclam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Grief, Grief Sex, M/M, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepsychicclam/pseuds/thepsychicclam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago, Chris had taken the sheriff out drinking for a night to get his mind off the fact that his wife had died and they ended up sleeping together. History repeats itself when Victoria dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thin threads

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Sterek-free fic-a-thon](http://thecivilunrest.livejournal.com/13653.html) in response to lightening_skies's prompt, which is the summary for this fic.

It was a coincidence, really. Chris was passing through Beacon Hills on business – a friend of a friend had needed someone with experience in the area to give him some tips on rogue Omegas. He was supposed to be going to San Francisco, a quick detour and then up north.

The diner was nearly empty when Chris entered. He remembered they had good hamburgers, and it was close to the interstate. On his way out of town. He’d dealt with the Omega situation (which wasn’t a situation, stupid fucking inexperienced hunters), and after a quick dinner, he’d be back on the road.

The lone figure at the counter looked vaguely familiar, and when Chris got a better look, he recognized him. Sheriff Stilinski. He’d heard the sheriff’s wife had died a few weeks ago. Stilinski looked like hell. But he smiled and nodded when Chris sat down, even started a conversation. Asked about Allison, about Victoria. How did Chris like Detroit? _Well, it’s Chicago now,_ Chris replied. This year. Last year, Atlanta, the year before that, Boston. Next year, who knew.

Somewhere between commiserating about the joys of being the father to pre-teens and giving him condolences on his late wife, Chris had insisted that they go over to the dive bar across the street for a few drinks.

 _You need it,_ Chris had said. 

_We’re not even friends,_ Stilinski had pointed out. But Chris told him it didn’t matter. He looked like he needed a drink. _I’ve had one too many the last few weeks,_ Stilinski had said as they crossed the empty street. _My fucking eleven year old had to take the bottle from my hand._

Chris decided Stilinski needed this. A night to cut loose and drink until he passed out, a night where he didn’t have to worry about his son. 

They drank and he talked while Chris listened, about how his wife had been diagnosed with cancer a year ago and he’d watched her waste away to nothing. _The only woman I ever loved,_ Stilinski had said. _We were virgins when we got married, did you know that? People don’t even do that anymore. Married for over twenty years. And now she’s gone._

Chris found himself sad for reasons that had nothing to do with Stilinski’s pain. He’d never thought of Victoria that way – sure, he loved her, in his own way, and she loved him, too; she was the mother of his child, and Allison was his world. But theirs had been an arranged marriage, Victoria chosen specifically for her abilities. Gerard had made sure that the Argent matriarch would be suitable for taking on the business. As much as Gerard doted on Kate, even he knew she was too unstable and volatile to be a proper leader. 

_I don’t know how to raise my son,_ Stilinski had said after downing a shot of Jack. _His mother was the only one who ever could deal with him. I’m going to fail him._

Somewhere between reassuring him and trying to steer the conversation to something else, Chris rubbed a hand on Stilinski’s back. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the grief, maybe it was the fucking dive bar, but they’d ended up in the motel next door, cheap and low-rent for truckers and one night stands. 

San Francisco could wait, and the babysitter was paid for the whole night.

They kept the lights off and fumbled around in the dark, their mouths sloppy and tasting like Tennessee whiskey. _I’ve never been with anyone but my wife,_ Stilinski whispered as Chris unbuttoned his jeans, and Chris had kissed him and told him to relax and forget about everything for awhile.

Chris had slept with a lot of people – men and women, sometimes alone, sometimes with Victoria. They weren’t exclusive, had negotiated an open marriage the moment they said I do. But he’d never have expected to be blowing the sheriff of Beacon Hills in a cheap motel. 

Stilinski fisted the sheets with one hand, the other in Chris’s hair, and Chris let him come in his mouth. When Chris crawled back up the bed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Stilinski looked dazed and out of it, which is exactly what he needed.

They kissed sloppily as he gave Chris a quick handjob, and then afterwards, they lay in the dark for awhile, not talking and sobering up before round two. After mutual blowjobs, it was after midnight, and Stilinski had to get home to his son, and Chris needed to head towards San Francisco.

They parted ways with awkward waves and no intention of ever seeing each other ever again.

*

They’d buried Victoria a month ago, and Chris didn’t know what to do. It was just him and Allison now, and they were trying to sew themselves back together with thin thread. Chris acted tough for Allison, but he was a wreck. Victoria had been a lot of things, but she was his partner and companion. He wasn’t sure how to live without her now.

Allison was spending the night at Lydia’s when Chris heard the doorbell ring. On the porch stood Stilinski, out of uniform, holding a six pack of beer. 

He didn’t have to say anything; Chris knew why he was here. He was repaying an old debt, and Chris didn’t mind collecting. Not tonight.

They watched part of a baseball game on TV while they drank their beers in silence. Chris remembered Stilinski at the bar, crying over the wife he loved, but Chris didn’t feel like crying. Chris just felt lonely. He’d still never loved Victoria the way Stilinski had loved his wife.

 _It never goes away,_ Stilinski said when Chris moved over to the couch. _It’ll never stop hurting._

Chris wondered if that would be true for him, or if he’d eventually not care. Or if he’d fall in love, now that he was a widower and Gerard wasn’t around to dictate his life. But that was dangerous thinking, thinking Chris wasn’t ready for. The only thing he wanted to focus on was Allison, and making sure she stayed away from all the werewolf bullshit. He wanted to protect his daughter from his mistakes, work on the damage Gerard had caused, maybe make up for everything they’d done wrong through hers. 

But right now, the only thing he wanted to do was lose himself in Stilinski’s mouth, which was confidently licking into his; lose himself to Stilisnki’s hand, which was assuredly unbuttoning Chris’s pants. He blew Chris first, on his knees between his legs while Chris sat on the couch, and Chris wondered if it was experience, grief, or alcohol that had made him so much worse at this that one time, so many years ago. 

That night, he’d not known what he was doing, but right then, as his head bobbed on Chris’s cock, his mouth hot and tongue soft, the thin thread holding Chris together came apart easily. Chris moaned as he came, his body and mind losing what little resolve it had. Tearing at the seams.

Stilinski stayed all night, and they watched TV in between blowjobs and hand jobs, stretched out and writhing against each other on the couch, their fingers gripping each other tight enough to leave bruises in the morning, and one desperate bout after half a bottle of Jack Daniels and Chris’s frantic need to feel _something_ when Stilinski pressed him up against the wall, his cock slick and hard as he fucked between Chris’s thighs. 

Chris fell asleep some time around dawn, and when he woke up hours later, he was alone, the threads starting to stitch themselves back together once again.

-fin


End file.
